Not All That it Appears
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: It's 1994 and the World Cup is coming to the US. UNCLE is scheduled to provide security, but something is very wrong with Illya. Napoleon is determined to find out what it is. My thanks to Reapermum for a great prompt! This is part of the Mouth of Babes series.


Napoleon adjusted the blotter on the conference table and glanced over at the clock. When he was an agent, he hated the Tuesday morning meetings. They always seemed a waste of time. When he picked up the reins, his first thought was to cancel them outright. Then he thought maybe it would seem that he was too eager to change things, so he thought they'd ease out of them. Now he found himself looking forward to them.

Napoleon now realized the wisdom of his predecessor. UNCLE was far too large an organization to be able to keep a thumb on everything. It made more sense to let his people do what they did best and talk shop with the heads of the Sections once a week. While he tended to keep a closer tab on Section two, just out of habit, and Section Three, because of Illya's involvement, this gave him the opportunity to connect with everyone.

His secretary entered, pushing a service cart. It had two large pink boxes on the top and two carafes, along with several small baskets down below.

"May I give you a hand?" Napoleon rose, already knowing what the answer would be, but he felt duty bound to ask anyway.

"No, but I thank you, kind sir." Helen grinned at him and opened the boxes of doughnuts. She arranged them on platters and then put napkins off to the side. From beneath, she removed carafes of coffee and tea. "That should hold them. You know, you'd think everyone attending these meetings had never seen pastry before and it's the same stuff they can get in the Canteen."

"Yes, by knowing you place them with such love and care, it makes each bite that much more succulent." He gave her an exaggerated wink and his secretary laughed, dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

"Oh, you are so bad! You are such a shameless flirt."

"You must be talking about Napoleon." Illya limped into the conference room and took a seat, diving directly into the agenda and ignoring everything and everyone else.

"I am wounded to the quick," Napoleon murmured, trying to look sternly at Illya. It didn't work when Illya wasn't looking directly at him, but then it rarely did even when Napoleon did manage to lock eyes with the man. He ended up smiling at his former partner instead and returning to the agenda.

Helen picked up a plate and put a cake doughnut on it for Napoleon and two chocolate glazed doughnuts on another plate for Illya. She served them and both murmured their thanks. She followed it with a cup of coffee for her boss and tea for his Section Three head.

Illya reached into his jacket pocket for his glasses and stopped.

The look on his face made Napoleon frown with concern. "Illya, what's wrong?" Illya took his hand out, his fingers grasping something. It wasn't until he placed it on the blotter that Napoleon saw it was dried chunks of mud. "Oh, how nice. Irina left you a mud pie. She must have been worried that you weren't eating enough."

"Oh, that is so sweet," Helen gushed. "Grandchildren are such a blessing, especially at this age."

"Not necessarily. The only reason they live is because it is against the law to eat our young," Illya said, cleaning out the pocket. He found his glasses in another pocket, but they were tied with a multitude of brightly colored ribbons. The knots were tight and tiny and Illya sighed.

Napoleon tried to keep from laughing. "I dare you to wear those during the staff meeting."

The resulting glare made Napoleon's laughter bubble over and Helen joined him.

"It might start a fashion trend," she offered helpfully and Illya slowly shook his head.

"I think not. Ms. Daley, I have a spare pair of glasses on my desk. Would you be so good–?" He dropped a hand to his leg and adopted a look Napoleon had nicknamed his little lost dog look. Few women were able to resist it and his secretary was no exception.

"I'd be happy to fetch them for you, Mr. Kuryakin." She was gone with that.

Illya watched her leave and then looked back at Napoleon. "What do you think?"

"I guess we will find out. You left the coded message where she would find it?"

"I did." Illya stared at the closed doors. "Napoleon, I don't remember having to be this vigilant back in our day. Do you suppose Mr. Waverly-?"

"That's because the economy was better then and, believe it or not, stealing secrets wasn't as much big business as it is now. I just hope you're wrong about her. She's been with us a long time."

"As do I, but we both know that duration is no guarantee. It's better to catch it now before-" Illya stopped as the other section heads started to trickle in. "-things get worse."

Napoleon murmured a greeting to each of them and let them settle. There was some good-natured ribbing over the weekend baseball game. Napoleon had learned to give them a few minutes to socialize before starting the meeting. In some cases, the weekly meeting was the only time the Section heads had to talk with their counterparts. Napoleon liked to think that this fostered a since of camaraderie between the sections.

Napoleon broke off a bit of doughnut and ate it slowly, savoring the taste. He could remember eating a half dozen of these and not thinking about it or even tasting them for that matter. Somehow, this was a bit better. He let the momentary peace wash over him.

Helen returned, her face red from obviously having hurried. She was holding a hand close to her chest and looked very distressed. She bent to Illya's ear and whispered something. Illya looked surprised and then just a bit disgusted.

"Thank you, Ms. Daley. I had no idea." He stood slowly and caught Napoleon's eye. "I need to take care of something, Napoleon. If you want to start without me, I will be back as quickly as possible."

"Of course. Is it trouble?"

"Not yet, thanks to your secretary and a right cross." And Illya was gone.

"How does he do that?" Reynolds, the Section Six chief shook his head in amazement. "He can't even walk some days and yet _poof,_ he just vanishes from view. Last week, we were working on the latest security vetting and one minute he was there and then he was gone. You'd think he was part invisible man."

"You're asking me? How would I know? I'm only his partner." Napoleon opened up his folder and took out his agenda, tapping the pages into order. "Ex-partner, I mean. So, Section Four, what has Intelligence been up to?"

Abel Esparaza stood and cleared his throat. "We have laid several sting operations in conjunction with Section Three. Thanks to Illya's help, we managed to head off THRUSH's latest attempt at the mind-controlling acne medicine, but strangely enough we've been getting calls from parents of the affected youth."

"They are worried about long-term effects?"

"No, they want to know if they can get more. Apparently, some of the teens were much better behaved while using the cream."

"If our coffers get too low, at least we know we have a money maker on our hands. Anything else?"

"With concern to the mole, we had set numerous traps. In the meantime, we have reverted back to the code from five years ago in the hopes that THRUSH won't notice…"

Napoleon listened, but at the back of his mind, he was ticking off minutes. The longer the delay, the more likely that something had come of Illya's scheme.

He'd heard from all the other section heads before Illya came back in. His hair was disheveled and there was a red spot on his jaw, but there was an air of accomplishment about him. He nodded happily to Esparaza and gave him a brief thumbs up.

"So, Illya, what's going on?" Napoleon indicated him with the wave of his fingers. "I'm guessing you were successful? Would you like to fill us in?"

"We were and we are down one mail delivery boy." Illya looked over at Helen. "Ms. Daley came upon him trying to take some coded papers from my desk. Thankfully, she has a formidable right cross."

"I make a lot of bread," Helen murmured as the heads turned to congratulate her.

"She was able to render him harmless until we were able to officially deal with him."

"Was this one of the aforementioned traps you and Section Four cooked up?" Reynolds asked.

"Wasn't he properly vetted?" John Hildebrand, Section Eight, asked. "I know that we have been talking about implementing new procedures…"

"Yes, it was, and, yes, he was. It was no oversight by Section Eight. THRUSH has just gotten that much more clever these days." Illya sat slowly, his face grey, and Napoleon found himself wondering just how much longer he could turn a blind eye to Illya's growing disability. The man never complained, never asked for any favors, but surely it was quickly becoming a time of where it was going to have to be actively addressed. But that was a topic for another day.

"So, you want to give us the details?" Napoleon pressed him, choosing to ignore Illya's discomfort.

"Not yet. We will need to have a 'discussion' with him first." Illya folded his hands before him. "I do, however, have a report on the World Cup before we adjourn."

"I wondered how long it would be until we got around to that." Reynolds was a football man himself, but they could see the way the wind was blowing at the moment and it was blowing from a soccer direction.

"As you know from my previous report, UNCLE has been asked to provide protection for the various heads of state while the US hosts the games. The games will run from June seventeenth to July seventeenth and will involve nine different cities. It has already been the decision of Section One that each region should provide local protection for whatever heads of states are in attendance. As the President, as well as the German Chancellor and the president of Bolivia will be in attendance for the opening game, I would like to also coordinate with Section Two as it is an international as well as national security matter."

"With you right there in the thick of it, I would imagine." Jean Sahagun, the Section Five head teased. Illya's love of soccer was well known. "I can see it now, you at the President's side, ready to offer any explanation of the game that might be necessary."

With a sigh, Illya shook his head. "Sadly, we will need someone who is more field able than I am. Protection detail is for younger and more agile men. I will not be on the front lines. I am assigning my top four agents to safeguard the presidents and the chancellor. Between us, the military and the secret service, I'm not expecting any trouble. I will be monitoring from the war room here."

Napoleon's heart broke a little when he heard those words from Illya. It was the first time Illya had actually acknowledged that an assignment was too much for him to handle.

"Is there anything else?" he murmured and watched heads move in the negative. For some reason, Illya's admission seemed to strike a similar chord among the other chiefs and the mood darkened.

"If you will excuse me, I have a suspect to crack." Illya stood and limped towards the door, his shoulders slightly drooped.

"It's hard when real life kicks you in the teeth," Abel said softly. "It's especially hard when you've worked so hard to make it to this point and one frigging bullet changes your whole life." He got up swiftly and hurried after Illya. "Hey, Kuryakin, wait up!"

One by one, the section heads left and Napoleon sat quietly behind his blotter, his notes and agenda forgotten. He picked up a pen and fiddled with it.

"Are you all right, Mr. Solo?"

Napoleon knew he must look grim when Helen addressed him like that. "I'm fine, Helen. It's just hard to admit that we are all getting older. The other day this old man surprised me and it was my reflection in a mirror. Old age is not for the weak."

"Age is just a number, Napoleon."

"Except for Section Two agents. Then it's more of a dirge." He set down the pen and stood. "And for some more than others."

Napoleon watched his car and driver as they pulled away from the curb. The sun was warm on his face and the air held all the promise of summer yet to come. The world was renewing once again, yet, in his heart, it was dark and cold.

All day long, the other sections had come forward, offering to 'unburden' Illya of his World Cup responsibilities. Napoleon was slightly concerned that Illya had accepted, reluctantly in most cases, but nodded and accepted. The never-say-die agent who had ruled by Napoleon's side would never have done that and Napoleon found himself down in Medical, talking with Illya's doctors.

Assured that there was nothing out of the ordinary going on with his former partner, Napoleon was startled when he got the vacation request from Illya. Illya never took vacation voluntarily, especially when there was an active mission, like security protection of the World Cup on the books.

He headed to Illya's office, relieved that the man was there. These days he would be as likely to be in any of the other departments as opposed to his own. Illya looked up behind a pile of folders as he fiddled with a small transistor radio. He frowned when he saw Napoleon's expression.

"You look as if you've just been told your best friend has been run down. Can I help you, Napoleon?"

"Tell me what's going on, Illya."

"What do you mean?"

"This." Napoleon tossed the request at him. "Since when have you taken time off, especially now?"

"HR has been after me to take some time and forced the issue this week. I sent you their memo. They were suggesting that I be relieved of duty if I resisted further. I have a couple of projects around at home and I promised Lisle that I would help her with some stuff." He paused and locked eyes with his friend. "And it's not like I've got anything to do around here as of late. Everyone was so helpful, they've taken the World Cup assignment away from me. I didn't even get to lean on our THRUSH guest."

"They are just trying to help."

"I know." Illya picked up the radio that was on his desk. "I have a feeling the security that Section Two is providing will be more than adequate. After all, we are just going to fill in the gaps with Section Three agents and these."

"With transistor radios? What station are you trying to get? You know nothing can penetrate down here."

"Napoleon, you've worked with UNCLE how long? Of course I know that." Illya offered it to him. "This is something that Section Eight has been working on. It's a takeoff of the old cigarette pack version of the communicator. It's a communicator, a weapon, and if all else fails, an actual AM/FM radio. All the agents will be given them. It won't look out of place at the games, but it will allow them to stay in contact with each other."

"Who has been assigned to the president? Our president?"

"I have picked Dillingham, Marcus, Hale, and Boardworth, my best. Section Two has assigned its top two pairs, including your son. He's going to have front row seats at the game, not that he cares, and the reception to follow. We have been monitoring THRUSH and they don't seem the least bit interested."

"Which means you've doubled the attention focused upon them." Illya nodded and Napoleon continued. "Considering Leon doesn't give a tic about the game, at least I know one person will keep his full attention on the prize and not get distracted."

"It will be fine, Napoleon. The box that they will be using will be outfitted with bulletproof glass and no one will be allowed near it prior to or during the game. No deliveries will be made that aren't vetted away from the site and handled by our own staff."

"Well, if you're happy, then I will trust you."

"And my vacation?"

Napoleon smirked. "Approved, as if there was ever any doubt." He paused. "But you are okay?"

"It's a relative term, as I'm sure our psychiatrists would argue." Illya smiled slightly. "Yes, old friend, I am fine. Now let me clear my desk so I can make the most of my upcoming freedom."

Now Napoleon regarded the house that his son and Illya's daughter called home. It was a large fixer upper and it seemed to take every bit of time that any of them had to spare. Still, between their efforts, inside was warm, cheerful and filled with the laughter of his grandchildren. To Napoleon, that was a treat in itself and an unexpected one. That he had a son was amazing enough, but that the man had provided him with two grandchildren was even better. He and Illya spent so much time here that there was now talk about outfitting the third floor as an apartment for them to use. It was tempting and Napoleon found himself thinking more of this place as home as opposed to the penthouse apartment he shared with Illya.

He tried the front door, but it was locked, a sad testament to the world they lived in. He got out his key and entered. The hallway was empty with the exception of some dust motes, piles of toys, more toys and discarded items of clothes.

"Hello?"

For a long moment he stood, ears straining, then he heard something and spun. His grandson, Alex, was standing there, dressed in his Doctor Denton's and eating a piece of cheese.

"'Lo, Grampy. I gots to tell you, if you're looking for dinner, you ain't gettin' it."

Napoleon hung up his jacket and set his briefcase on the sideboard. He knelt so that he could look the boy in the eyes. He brushed the blonde mop out of those brown eyes and studied him. "Aside from atrocious grammar, I'm not getting a lot of anything from that statement, Alex. What are you talking about, son?"

"I can't tell time yet, but I know it's way past dinner. Mommy don't care." He sighed heavily and took a large bite of cheese. "All she's been doing is sitting there and screaming."

"What?" Napoleon's stomach clenched.

"Her and Poppy."

Visions of THRUSH agents in the house, torturing his partner and daughter-in-law surged up in Napoleon's mind. "Where are they, Alex?"

"The libing room."

"Do me a favor and go back to the kitchen. Have another piece of cheese."

"Kay."

He waited until the boy disappeared and then hurried down the hall to the libing… living room. He steeled himself against what might be awaiting him. He was heartsick to think he'd sent Illya into this. He pulled his weapon and jumped through the door way.

"Freeze right there!"

Both Illya and his daughter looked up from the sofa where they sat, a collection of wrappers, discarded potato chip bags, and empty beer bottles surrounding them.

Illya frowned, waved him away and went back to the TV screen. "Don't let him score! Run!" he shouted coming to his feet without any of the stiffness Napoleon had witnessed at headquarters. In fact, as Illya's tee shirt hitched up, Napoleon caught sight of the tail end of Illya's scar, pale and flat against his skin. With a groan of disappointment, Illya fell back as Lisle let out a whoop and jumped up.

"Score! You are going down!" She shook her finger at her father.

"Mommy, you waked up the baby," Irina scolded and Lisle laughed.

"I'm sorry, sweetie." Lisle tried to look chastised, but could manage it past her grin.

"If you two can't be quiet, you will need to go to your rooms," Irina attempted to sound very grown up and shook a menacing finger at them. Illya scooped her up and blew a raspberry on her belly.

Irina squealed happily and wiggled in his grasp until he released her and she scurried out of reach.

"You old faker," Napoleon said as realization started to dawn. "You sly, crafty son of a –"

"Dad, little pitchers." Lisle shook her head firmly and Napoleon swallowed the curse.

"Dis game's got pitchers, like baseball?" Alex walked in carrying a half empty eaten chunk of cheese and another package of pepperoni slices. "It don't make sense, Grampy." Alex plopped down beside his sister. "They calls it soccer, but they can't use their hands, but you can when you play footballs. It just don't make sense."

"It makes perfect sense for Americans," Illya said and helped himself to two pieces of pepperoni. He popped them in his mouth, chewed and then said, "This isn't doing it. I think we need a pizza. Possibly two."

"Oh, boy, pizza!" Irina yelled. "Yes, Poppy, pizza, pizza, pizza."

"Don't wake the baby," Lisle warned her.

"Mommy, it's just a dolly." Irina giggled and Alex joined her happy dance. They hopped around the living room in anticipation of a rare treat.

Napoleon stood, as if glued to the floor, which in this house could happen. "Everyone at work thinks you're at death's door."

Illya picked up the receiver and started to dial. "Should I be concerned that I know the phone number to the pizza place by heart?" Glancing at Napoleon, Illya shrugged his shoulders. "I never said anything to that end."

"You didn't need to with those sad puppy dog eyes and well-timed limps."

"I can't help that I limp. It wasn't my fault the doctor mis-measured the implant."

"Everyone is worried about you."

Illya gave his partner a tight smile. "Good. I'm not going to be around forever and it's time they stop relying on me for everything."

"Relying on you?" Napoleon scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

"Think back to your department meeting."

"All right, but..." Then Napoleon realized what Illya meant. Everyone seemed to be turning to Illya for all the problem solving. "Oh, I see what you mean

"Yes, oh. I'm sure it's not intentional, but I am being used as a crutch and I know better than anyone that there comes a time to stop relying on your crutch and stand on your own. What better time than now? There's always things to do here…"

"Poppy, are you ever gonna dial?" Alex's voice was plaintive and Illya laughed.

"What would you like on the pizza, besides cheese and pepperoni?"

"More cheese and pepperoni!"

"He's certainly got your genes," Lisle murmured as the pre-game went to a commercial break. She began to pick up the mess that collected around the couch. "Alex, go get Mommy a rubbish bin. Irina, why don't you go get some paper plates and napkins. Can you do that?"

"Course. I'm a big girl."

Illya watched their two grandchildren leave. "Are you going to rat me out?"

"To whom? Me? I already know what kind of man you are." Napoleon gave Illya a gentle smile.

"Do you now?" Illya hung up the receiver to begin to dial again. "Enjoy that fantasy, Solo."

And Napoleon decided he would do exactly that and went to claim a prime spot for the game and the pizza.


End file.
